


Too Late to Pray

by caffeinechesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Lovecraftian Monster(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-16 20:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16502456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinechesters/pseuds/caffeinechesters
Summary: Sam and Dean head to New Mexico after catching wind of a possible chupacabra case. What they find is anything but a chupacabra.





	Too Late to Pray

“I will grant you both peace free from angels, free from demons, free from reapers if you lay down on here amongst my offerings,” a voice tells Sam and Dean.

They peer out into the open plains of the desert, night sky bright. The corpses of cattle and goats litter the area in front of them. Sam cannot discern which direction the voice is coming from. Dean keeps moving his flashlight around the area trying to find its physical form. They are left more confused than when they first caught wind of this case.

* * *

It started out as a blurb on a fringe-y conspiracy theory online newspaper about animal corpses (cattle, goats, even pets) littering the desert near a small town in New Mexico. The author states this is proof positive of aliens especially since it was close to Upham where they’d built a commercial spaceport. Curiosity piqued, but not about aliens doing it, Sam digs deeper into the state and local newspapers for any word of it. There were a couple of posts on a forum for cattle farmers. It was very formulaic the posts: they counted the heads before letting them out to pasture but when they were returning back to the barn, at least ten heads were gone, and when they found the lost cattle, they were desiccated to taut skin stretched over bone.

Sam was itching to get out the South since the dog days are coming soon. And the humidity is already high enough for him now. At least the desert gets cooler at night in the summer even if in the daytime it reaches triple digits. Dean could tell by the way Sam fixated on the possible chupacabra case. Dean didn’t mind the Deep South in summer, finding it calming to hear the cicada song and verdant forest. Plus, he could make fun of the way Sam’s hair in the humidity turns into puppy curls and Sam’s attempt to fix it. He did already a couple of times and the resulting bitch faces was worth it and even when Sam brought home only rabbit food instead of the burgers and pie he requested.

It took a couple of days to get to New Mexico even with Dean’s disregard for the speed limit. The spent the night on the side of the road in west Texas, watching the stars on the hood of the Impala until the desert chill made them retreat back into the car. Burrowed underneath old army blankets they’re lulled asleep wrapped in silence. The morning sun and heat comes too early for Dean as he pushes off the rest of the blanket still feeling a bit fuzzy around the edges of a dream and living. He momentarily panics when he looks back to see that Sam isn’t in there, but seeing him outside closer to the scrub brush than the car brushing his teeth eases his anxiety a bit. Dean is not sure if he always felt this protective of his brother since his birth, the way they were brought up, or a strange combination of the two. 

“It’s too early for this,” half of his brain supplies. The other half is screaming for coffee and not to think too hard without it unless he wants a headache.

He rolls out of the front seat causing Sam to look over his shoulder at that production and stretches for a moment. When he hears a series of loud pops and Sam suppressed laughter and comments, he decides for the both of them to find a Kwik-E mart or another place that sells coffee. Or at least something that has caffeine in it. Dean may love his brother but at the same time, he wants to strangle him when he hits a little too close to home with teasing. Some coffee and grub can solve that. Sam hands him a protein bar before they merge back onto the highway, dust kicking up behind them like from a modern western.

* * *

It’s late afternoon after they roll into the town and they realize that there is no motel. Well, there was a resort nearby according to the gas station attendant. Dean was quickly tabulating how much was left on the cards to Malcolm Young. Or Angus Young at this point. Sam was looking on his phone to verify that this was only lodging nearby.

“We could see if the most recent ranch needs hands,” Sam asks after realizing that the resort was the only option that was more than 20 miles away. They were already a couple of miles away from where the corpses were found.

“Yeah, but we couldn’t interview everybody we need to without them getting suspicious,” Dean adds. “We’d also have work during the day versus researching where the chupacabra is hiding. Remember that case where you killed the hellhound for the trials?”

“The one with the more dysfunctional family than ours, yeah Dean, I remember,” Sam retorts. “We could always just camp near the site where everything was found.”

“I don’t know about you but I would kill for a shower that’s not $12 at a truck stop,” Dean replies. “Also I would love to shower without you primping less than five feet away to save money.”

“Yeah Dean, I was totally primping by shaving my stubble and we could just pay for two showers,” he states, “Do we even have enough to stay at that resort?”

“I refuse to shell out $24 for two showers, Sam. Anyways remember how Dad would sneak all three of in one trucker shower room? It worked fine back then. I think we’ll have enough for two days on Malcolm Young’s card,” Dean responds. 

“You’d think after the leviathans and what Frank said Dean you’d stop with the rock star alias by now,” Sam says, looking at his brother. Who just shrugs at him and points the Impala into the direction of the resort.

The resort comes into view, perched up a mountain with a nearby lake. It looks rustic from the outside, adobe-style cabins scattered around the lake with a large impressive old house-turned-welcome center at the end of the main road. Compared to the cars that in the parking spaces up front, they definitely look out of place: newer minivans or semi-luxury cars dotting the parking lot in front of the welcome center. Dean has always accepted the fact that they’ll never have normal or fit in with the general population; Sam has never forgotten the semi-normalcy of Stanford and feels like he is stuck in the middle of the two sides. Sam can blend in with middle-class, middle-management types with the average family to emoting with harried victims they find on the cases. As dean guides the Impala into a parking spot, far away from any other car, Sam takes a deep breath.

“I’ll get us the room… well cabin,” Sam exhales, “while you get the bags. Maybe we can park in front of the cabin so that you don’t have to worry about someone dinging her?”

Dean shrugs and goes back to the trunk to gather their bags. Sam enters the center and feels a sense of nostalgia. It reminds him of a similar hotel that Jess and her parents to him in Mexico over spring break one year. It feels like a lifetime ago, hell, it probably was several lifetime agos he thinks if he includes his time in the cage. Sam rubs his hand, a reflex, to clear his mind as he walks up the front desk. The small woman, Vanessa according to her name tag, that is manning it looks up at him expectedly as he rubs his hand.

“I’d like a cabin for two nights, one with two beds, please,” Sam asks, hunching down a bit without realizing. “Can we park our car in front of the cabin?”

“Of course, we’ll just need some information and a credit card,” Vanessa says, faux cheery, as she clacks the keyboard as he hands her the fake ID and card. “You’ll be in cabin 10, Mr. Young, and yes you can park in front of the cabin. Can I also interest you in some of our activities like boat rentals or guided hiking trails?”

“Uh, no thank you,” Sam starts and pauses seeing that they did offer elk hunting looking around, ”Wait...Do you still have the elk hunting?”

Vanessa looks nervous all the sudden, unsure of what to say. She quickly slips back into the customer service role and responds, “We normally do, but the elk population isn’t that big this year. You know, we want to be a part of the conservation effort and all that.”

“Okay, thank you for helping me,” Sam says taking the keys from the counter. Vanessa is already on the phone answering a call with a grimace. At times like this, Sam is okay with living on the fringes, even more so when he hears screaming from the receiver.

 

They pull up to the cabin and it looks nice albeit a bit touristy. When they enter, it’s neater than any cabin they’ve been in since they can remember; the number one difference is the lack of dust and weapons gracing every flat surface. Dean comments about the lack of a theme outside of “Southwest” until he sees the shower that of course, Dean calls first. Sam just hopes that because this is a cabin and not a motel that the hot water will not turn cold by the time Sam takes his. While waiting for Dean to emerge, Sam researches.

Sam searches the local library e-catalog to begin with, hoping that they digitized some of the records he needs. He searches property records first for the areas surrounding where the cows were found. And that is a dead end. Most of the land has been in the same families for generations without so much of a black mark or are owned by the government. There is also a distinct lack of area that is could shelter in during the day. He expands his search to the person that saw all the dead creatures and whether there were actual photos instead of the “artist’s renderings” from the website.

“Shit,” is the thought that crosses Sam’s mind as he stares at an obituary notice of the only person who saw it all. The farmer apparently died a couple of days after seeing and telling the reporter. That will make it harder for them.

Dean emerges from the shower, billow of steam following after him, clad only in the towel, to grab his clothes and heads back. Sam smiles at how simple creature comforts like that can make his brother’s day. He’s just happy that Dean will stop bitching about not having enough hot water while they’re here. He is not happy about telling Dean when he comes out again about their only lead is six feet under.

Dean does come back out soon after grabbing his clothes even if his hair is still damp. He snaps his fingers to get Sam’s attention and motions if he wants a beer from the refrigerator. He moseys over with the beer to the small table that Sam has taken over with his laptop, notes, and their dad’s journal open to chupacabras. Dean twists off the top of the one beer and offers it to Sam before sitting down. Dean sits, opens up his beer, and takes a drink before Sam can start whatever bad news he has if Dean is judging by the way his brother is looking between him, the laptop, and his notes.

“Get this, the only person that saw the whole thing died a couple of days after he saw it,” Sam starts. “He didn’t take any photos either.”

“Wasn’t he also like ninety years old? It’d be suspicious if he was thirty and died soon afterward,” Dean states.

“He was seventy, Dean. And according to his obituary, he was in good health up until that point. I think we should talk to his widow tomorrow,” Sam says.

“Okay. Who should we go as? FBI? Journalists,” Dean questions.  
“I think FBI would be too suspicious. A competitor journalist maybe,” Sam says before he takes a drink. 

“Now that is solved, I’m gonna grab us some food and actually sleep on a bed,” Dean tells Sam as he gets up to grab his keys.

* * *

The next morning, they’re out the ranch of the late Roger Williams. His death hasn’t seemed to affect the daily running of the farm giving the activity around the barns and seeing a farrier re-shoeing a horse in the field. It reminds them both of the time of the vengeful spirit was haunting a horse farm in the midwest when they were teens; John realized that it was going after younger stable hands and had the both of them start working there while he figured out who the spirit was.

His widow, Mrs. Williams, was hospitable, even offering them coffee as they sat out the patio. She watched the hands mucking out the barn as they both gave the bogus cover of a rival paper that was not so fringe-y. She laughed at that phrase of “not so fringe-y”.

“The first question I wanted to ask your husband is exactly where did he see the corpses,” Dean asks. He feels Sam jab him in the side with a bony elbow. 

“Just so we have photographic evidence to add to the article. It helps it make seem less conspiracy theory or aliens compared to drawing. Plus it might lend credence to his story,” Sam adds after elbowing Dean.

Mrs. Rogers lowers her mug of coffee to the table. It sounds like she sighs as she shakes her head. “That’s the thing, Mr. Tyler and Mr. Perry. Roger took the hands out to see the field of dead animals. The hands came back asking if he’d been drinking because there was nothing there. They all told him that and he yelled how could they not see it. I just figured maybe he saw a mirage or too much sun since we’re not young bucks anymore.”

After that tidbit of information, Sam and Dean stay talking to her to gather more information, including exactly where Roger Williams saw it all. Ms. Williams was not a hundred percent certain of where it was but referred to one of the hands that went with him. Once they got all the information they needed, it was time for more research.

They both researched the area and the nearby lands for a nesting spot for the chupacabra, well, now they are thinking chupacabras. Dean is hoping for a nest of chupacabras. Sam is not sure if it is a chupacabra now considering what Ms. Williams, the ranch hands, and Mr. Williams death. There has to be a link to Mr. Williams’s death and seeing the corpses, Sam thinks and unsuccessfully tries to persuade Dean into doing more research before they go out the site. Dean decides they’ll go at dusk out to the desert so that they don’t accidentally shoot someone’s longhorn. Sam isn’t happy about Dean’s insistence on diving right in and that it is a chupacabra, possibly chupacabras. Sam gives him a sour look when Dean tells him that a bullet in the head will kill most things. He just hopes that Dean is right about both the chupacabra and the bullets.

* * *

The sun sets over the desert plains; the sky is a kaleidoscope of color and if they were not looking for a chupacabra they might have admired it. The temperature is dropping with every sliver of the sun slipping under the horizon. The wind was picking up as they followed the trail of foot and hoof prints. It’s getting harder to see even with the flashlights. Sam looks around. It’s too dark too soon and there are no stars. The sound of the wind is muffled. He reaches for Dean ahead of him. As he grabs his jacket sleeve, he feels like he’s falling.

He awakes slowly, Dean’s hand over his chest, and his mind thinks “Why is Dean checking to see if I am breathing” before he remembers.

His eyes open. Dean is hovering above him and past that is a clear sky. The wind has stopped. He pats Dean on the shoulder as he gets up, letting him know that he is okay. Dean moves out of the way as Sam sits up.

“Where are we,” Sam asks, feeling confused and disorientated.

“I don’t know,” Dean answers, looking around. “It doesn’t look like we went anywhere?”

Sam then looks around and it does look like they were before he felt like he was falling. It’s calm. Still now. In the distance, he sees the longhorns of bulls dark against the starry sky. It feels like a dream.

“I don’t think we’re hunting a chupacabra after all,” Dean says, staring at the same spot he is. “Unless this is a chupacabra on steroids. Or maybe a pack of steroid chupacabra?”

“I don’t think even chupacabras on steroids could cause this Dean,” Sam retorts and glances over to see how royally screwed they are. Dean looks like how he’s feeling: awe, fear, and confusion.

“What do you think is causing this,” Dean asks after a pause.

“I don’t know,” Sam responds.

“Should we investigate over there,” Dean says gesturing towards the mass of bones in the distance. “I mean it might help us get out of here because I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore Toto.”

“Funny Dean, but maybe it’ll give us a clue,” Sam answers back and it sounds as unsure aloud as it did in his head.

“Awesome,” Dean says while taking the lead, flashlight pointed towards to the horizon,  
They walk in silence for the most part. There are pats on the shoulder or arm to have the other one look at something that might be a clue on what they’re hunting; it’s not much outside of bones of smaller animals and their tracks. Dean finds a macabre humor in some of the larger snake bodies that are almost skeletons you can see their final meals of desert mice. Dean looks sick when finds a desiccated dog’s belly split open with her puppies spilt out in with umbilical cords still attached. Sam doesn’t blame him because that will be something he’ll never forget.

They did notice that when they started, there was a path clear from the all the death and almost mummified corpse. The second thing is that the farther they walk the bigger the animal. It began with small rodents, a lot of the smaller creatures. Layers of them tossed aside like a peanut shell at a steakhouse. The bigger the creature the more reverent the body was placed. There were no longer layers but neat grids or tableaus of them. Dean was the one that noticed that after the pregnant dog; the puppies were placed around her, not just from the desert heat splitting open the belly and them oozing out. Sam thinks of the larger turtles looked like they were caught mid-walk or mid-swim and placed there and the foxes curled up like the little statues he saw in the numerous Goodwills as a kid. They keep moving. Dean takes a swig from his pocket flask and offers Sam some. He takes a sip without a second thought as they pass by deer with their antlers askew and the velvet dripping off into the earth.

It’s getting colder the closer to the horizon, darker, colder, and more claustrophobic. It feels like a myth brought to life. The desert landscape is kladeiscoping before them as their flashlights fade in and out. The stars are dimming and fading out to darkness and the peaks of the nearby mountains are changing shapes, merging with the sky. They stop. They hear something speaking to them in silence; compelling them to move forward. 

“I think we should head back the way we came,” Sam tells Dean, “we can’t even see where we going anymore.”

The sky erupts in starlight leaving them shielding their eyes from the change. They’re standing between the Longhorns and goats mummified, their horns looking larger than in life. The silence is insisting they move forward, faster, ignore the corpses, just follow the horizon.

“That cannot be good if whatever this is can just change everything just like that,” Dean remarks. “And apparently it’s listening in on us too.”

“We really should get out of here or try,” Sam states.

Dean nods. They try to head back the path when it disappears before their eyes. It’s nothing but the animal corpses and vast desert.

The whisper in the silence telling them to move forward stops. Sam and Dean can only hear their breaths and their hearts beating in their chest. Sam tries to speak but nothing comes out. He doesn’t even feel his vocal cords moving. He’s panicking. Sam thinks of the cage and Lucifer and the horrible things that Lucifer inflicted on him. Dean is panicking as well. He places his hand on Sam’s shoulder to calm him down because he looks like before Cas took away Sam’s hallucinations. He looks around, swinging his flashlight trying to find out what is causing all of this. 

The silence breaks. A melodious voice erupts from everywhere and nowhere. It’s both loud and soft. It leaves them disoriented and confused.

“I will grant you both peace free from angels, free from demons, free from reapers if you lay down on here amongst my offerings the brothers Winchester,” a voice tells Sam and Dean.

Sam is trying to discern where the voice is coming from exactly while Dean is moving the flashlight across the desert plains. They both have numerous questions, but the most pressing is how does whatever the hell this is knowing who they were. The sky is full of stars without any shadows blocking them. There’s nothing but corpses, offerings according to the voice, littering the ground. Sam looks closer at the area where Dean has the flashlight pointed. It’s a person. Mummified. Their hair still intact, mustache included, with clothes hanging off bony shoulders. He’s dressed in leather chaps, cowboy hats, spurs, and it reminds them of their jaunt back to Samuel Colt’s time. It dawns on them that that is probably a cowboy from the 1860s. On a cattle drive.

“What if we don’t want peace? Do we get to get off this ride,” Dean yells out. 

Sam wants to smack his brother because that might only make it worse. Which, on cue, the air gets colder and the stars dim as if unappeased with Dean’s remarks. He’s going to kill or at least maim his brother if they get out here alive.

“Everyone wants peace. Freedom from the bondage of life. You are no different. I will grant you an eternity of hunt and prizes together,” it speaks.

“Well, I don’t make deals with things I can’t see. At least when the demons are trying to sell me something they do it in person,” Dean tells it.

The flashlights flicker before going out and the stars follow suit. Sam and Dean are clueless on what this thing is and Dean just provoked it into appearing in front of them. Sam whispers to Dean, “You had say that, didn’t you? Now we can’t even see anything”.

Something rushes by them. They can feel it circling them. They go back to back as their Dad taught them in the morning drills of their adolescence. It feels like its eyes are on them, watching, calculating. Their flashlights flicker back on. Before Sam is a creature of thousands of eyes and horns shaped sort of human and it’s unsettling because Sam can’t tell what he’s looking at. He feels like he’s entered Google’s DeepDream artificial brain. Distantly he feels Dean turn to look and a “Jesus”. Sam tries to focus on the eyes that he thinks are equivalent to his own, but it keeps changing shapes, colors and moving. Dean is tense beside him, ready to pounce.

“What is your name,” Sam can’t help but ask.

“Supa’avet,” it speaks from a mouth that appears between eyes, open maw like an anglerfish full of sharp teeth.

“So lemme guess, we really don’t have a choice on whether we stay or go do we Supa’avet,” Dean snarks to what Sam believes may just an elder god. Great.

The eyes all focus on Dean. Calculating. Sam goes towards his gun in his waistband. Supa’avet’s eyes shift quickly towards him.

“I would not do that Samuel. I have been very generous on humoring you,” it warns. Sam’s hands from the gun and he shows his empty hands to an increasingly upset god. 

“You do have a choice before I was interrupted. Even the bravest and feared will choose peace and freedom. Once you lay down as an offering, you will become a part of me. I will make sure that you two will stay together, close, like in your heaven from the god that calls himself Chuck now. It is a better offering than what the new Death is offering. The Empty is oblivion. Nothingness forever. With me, I will make sure that you will have endless hunts and lost highways filled with your favorites. It is an ending befitting the brothers that stopped the Christian Apocalypse among others,” Supa’avet reasons.

They look at each other. They look around the desolate landscape. They’d both be lying if there was a certain allure to what it is offering: heaven is your greatest hits, hell is well hell, and the empty is an abyss where nothing exists and never has existed. Sure they may become a meal for some god that neither of them heard from but the alternatives don’t sound much better. But they think of all the monsters still left. The bunker and Cas and their Mom that they’re still adjusting to and learning about. Their lives may be hard and it’ll probably end bloody and spend eternity the Empty, but their family needs them. They cannot imagine how Cas and Mary would take their disappearance, giving that it never fared well for Cas especially.

“Nah, we’re good,” is what Dean says while Sam goes with a solid, “No.”

Supa’avet looks angry. Eyes shifting more frequently, growing bigger, horns spreading like vines, the air around it vibrating. It seems like this might be the first time someone turned down its offer of willing sacrifice for peace from whatever troubles the sacrificed is having. It is circling them again, eyeing them, looking for any weakness that it could exploit. It paused. They swear they could see Supa’avet’s glee.

“You have consumed in the underworld. Like the Greek Hades, you belong here now with me,” it speaks slowly.

Dean is about to deny when he feels Sam elbow him the ribs. Right, the nip of whiskey. There has to be a loophole Dean thinks but Sam beats him to it.

“But Persephone ate the pomegranate seed and was allowed to leave the underworld for half the year. Plus we were not even aware we were in the underworld at the time so we shouldn’t be faulted because it looks just like the area we were hunting in,” Sam retorts.

Dean can see how he got in the Pre-Law program at Stanford. He knew Sam was smart and cunning, especially when it came to arguing with their Dad, but finding a loophole like that just might save them. He hopes. Supa’avet eyes are focussed on Sam. Glaring him down. The elder god may have met his match in Sam, Dean thinks given that from the time Sam hit thirteen until he ditched for Stanford, Dad and him would have the exact same stare down until one of them broke. Sam is not disappointing Dean, even though Sam is scared shitless because of Supa’avet’s horns are winding around their ankles. The points of some of those horns dig into their jeans, trying to break through like it’s trying to taste their blood. Sam doesn’t waiver. Supa’avet has all of eternity.

“What if you come and get us when we’re dying or dead? Like a mark or something,” Dean questions, resulting to a bunch of eyes directed towards him. Sam is giving him a very pointed look. Maybe a mark was a bad choice of words Dean thinks given that he had the Mark of Cain until Sam cured him of it. Supa’avet is considering, he’s hoping, not that the eyes or horns have given Dean any indication. He still can’t stare at too long unlike Sam who acts like something like this is nothing; Dean wonders if being in the cage may have something to do with it (not that he really wants to touch that topic with any length of a pole). The horns seem to be loosening, which is a plus, but the mouth has yet to make an appearance on if that is an acceptable deal. 

Dean thinks that Supa’avet is a sick bastard for making them wait this long for an answer. It may be immortal, or close enough to it, but they are not. Dean can only look at it for so long before he feels sick and disjointed with all the shifting and that does not help his case of this is a serious offer compared to Sam’s two-pronged rebuttal of is it really the drinking in the underworld if you don’t know it and Persephone got partial freedom with complimentary stare down. Dean glances over at Sam only to see Sam glowering back him and probably thinking that he is an asshole and the biggest jerk. He glances back to Supa’avet just to make sure that it’s still there and considering. The eyes are still flicking back and forth between the two of them weighing the pros and cons of both of their offers. Finally, it speaks.

“That seems acceptable. I will mark your bodies so that I can collect your souls upon your death. As for tricking you into consuming in the underworld Samuel, where did you think you fell into and woke up at,” Supa’avet questions, horns loosening from their ankles. 

Sam isn’t sure where he thought he was outside of the random piece of desert in New Mexico. He knew that Dean joked about not being in Kansas anymore, but neither of them knew that they were underworld. Or that the underworld would look like that. He knew what Hell looked like, but the Pagan underworld, Sam imagined more cave-like, the literal sense of underworld.

“I don’t know where I thought I was. I just imagined that the underworld would be more cave-like,” Sam finally answers.

“For some it does, for others, it looks like their paradise,” Supa’avet tells Sam. “Apparently paradise for you two is open roads, desolation, and a hunt.”

“I just have one last question. The farmer, Roger Williams, that saw the corpses but no one else that came to the area saw it. How did he see them,” Sam asks.

“He was between worlds. Only those near death or the definition of heroes can see all of this,” Supa’avet supplies.

“So we’re heroes,” Dean pipes in looking excited at that prospect of an elder god calling them that.

“Possibly, heroes change. As for my mark, it shall hurt a bit,” Supa’avet warns just before the horns burrow into the flesh of their ankles. They both grunt in pain, although they both swear that it was the other one that screamed later on before they feel the horns lift and watch them slither back to it. They both look down at the hem of jeans once the horns are gone, expecting to see blood and ripped denim, but it looks the same as before this started.

“You are free to travel back into the world of the living. Just remember that I will be both your reaper and ruler once you perish. There is no getting out of this binding,” Supa’avet tells them before blending back into the shadows of the desert. 

“I feel so used, Sammy. It marked us and left without saying goodbye,” Dean jokes trying to alleviate the tension. Sam smiles to Dean’s relief. They can move on. They’ve done it a thousand times. They’ll find a way to get rid of this new binding mark. They always have managed to get out of deals like this sooner or later.

Dean is curious on what the actual mark looks like though once they start the trek back. Dean stops and points his flashlight towards his ankle as he rolls up one of the legs on his jeans. On the inside of the ankle is a small dark scar that isn’t shaped like the horn that punctured it, but rather an eye with two horns wrapped around it. It looks kind of awesome, even if it feels like it belongs on a hot chick on a bar that is into mythology. Sam looks at it and tilts his head.

“After meeting Supa’avet you’d think that’d it’d have a more original mark than just its main components,” Sam muses. “Wait... I’d rather have that than a scar mar of it’s gaping maw.”

Dean laughs out, “But at least with a scar of a bite like that you could say you got that bite by fighting some crazy thing and that you won. This feels like a chick tattoo.”

“I don’t think tattoos have a gender, but I guess,” remarks Sam. “I’m just ready to head back to the cabin and sleep for as long I can before we get kicked out by the resort.”

“Yeah, pick up a six pack and burgers on the way back and just sleep the rest of this case off,” Dean says as he’s beginning to walk back.

“Do you think Supa’avet will cause any more trouble,” Sam asks Dean.

“I don’t think so. Roger Williams was just at the right place, wrong time deal. We’ve never known about Supa’avet if Roger Williams wasn’t near death and stumbled here. I don’t think it’s exactly filled with malice. It looks like it just offers something comforting until it finished devouring its victim’s soul or something,” answers Dean. 

“Well, let’s just hope that we can figure out how to get this mark off of us before that happens,” states Sam.

“Maybe Cas will know something or there’s something in the library about Supa’avet,” Dean tells him. “Until then, we’ll just carry on.”


End file.
